


Love is a Verb

by lemotmo



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: Blindness, Gen, M/M, OFC - Freeform, OMC - Freeform, Without a Trace AU, blind!Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemotmo/pseuds/lemotmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b> He could see how, from that moment on, things only got more difficult for him, because he was no longer just the <i>blind</i> boy, but the <i>gay, blind</i> boy and wasn’t that what he needed: <i>a brand new, shiny label</i>.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a Verb

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of transferring my best fics from Livejournal to this Ao3 account. As I read the stories again, I can clearly see the way my writing-style has changed (for the better) over the years. Some of these stories could use some re-editing. However, I have decided to leave the fics as they are. Each story clearly reflects the way I looked upon the world at the moment of writing. I kinda like that.
> 
> **This story is a repost from a fic written in July 2007**.

**In the night of matter**

Martin’s earliest memory is also the most precious. It was the Fourth of July and, to celebrate, his father had taken the entire family to Washington. That night, they found themselves in big park, somewhere close to the White House, but for the life of him -no matter how hard he tried to remember- he couldn’t recall the name of the place.

When the first bang broke through the silence of the evening, smoke filling up the air, Martin’s heart had started to pound faster, because he was only a little boy and he wasn’t quite sure what was going on. He remembers that, all he wanted to do was seek shelter in his mother’s arms, but he made himself stay exactly where he was, knowing full well that his father wouldn’t welcome such a display of _weakness_. So he clung to his sister’s hand, his palm sticky and moist with sweat.

The air around him was pregnant with the smell of something burnt, as bursts of colour kept on exploding in the night sky.

Caught up in the wonderful spectacle, he finally let go of his fear, stretched out his arms sideways –as far as he could- and started twirling around, over and over again, as he kept peering up _up up_ into the dark night that was lit by a thousand colourful stars. By the end of the evening, his sister had pulled him down next to her on the grass, and they stared up at the sky—star struck by such intense beauty. Right there and then, they were perfectly content, as only children can be.

When the last arrow had exploded and the last whiff of smoke had vanished, Martin jumped up and ran to his father, happy and dazed, making him promise – _over and over again_ \- that they’d come back the following year. His father smiled at him and promised they would.

They never did go back, but by then Martin had already learned that he couldn’t trust his father when it came to the things he promised, because his father’s promises always remained just that: _promises_.

~*~

**Black flowers blossom**

Martin had just turned eight when he woke up one morning with two infected, red eyes. The family doctor was called and he diagnosed Martin with a severe eye infection, due to a fungus he had to have caught somewhere when he was off playing in the woods behind their house.

“Nothing serious,” the man had said. “Just an infection that will clear up as soon as the antibiotics kick in.”

The infection never did wane, instead it only grew stronger and stronger, until his mother decided she’d had enough and dragged Martin all the way to a big city hospital in Washington where specialists poked and prodded at him to find out what could be causing the rapid spreading of the infection.

“This is a mystery to us,” they said to his mother. “He has a strong fungal infection and for some reason the infection has decided to attack his optical nerve. This isn’t something that is supposed to happen-- but it is. We don’t know why— but if this continues and the antibiotics don’t manage to stop the infection, he might go blind— permanently.”

Martin had been asked to wait outside the doctor’s office, where he’d been patiently sitting. When his mother finally came out with tear tracks on her cheeks, he asked no questions—he was only a kid, but he wasn’t stupid. Tears were never a good thing, so – _in all his childlike innocence_ \- he decided to ignore the feeling of dread that settled low in the pit of his stomach, thinking that-- if he didn’t ask about it, it would all just go away.

He finally realised just how bad the news was when, six weeks later, he woke up one morning to a darkness he’d never experienced before. He gasped out loud and screamed _screamed screamed_ until he lost his voice and he passed out from exhaustion in his mother’s tight embrace.

After that, his life came to a standstill. For days he holed up in his room, refused to come out, cried, yelled, kicked everything and everyone who dared to trespass, until his father couldn’t take it anymore and marched right in, snatched Martin up and held him close until his raging subsided and deep heaving sobs racked his body as he curled up in a ball and burrowed closer into his father’s embrace. _(Every time Martin looked back upon that moment later in life, he realised that it was the one and only time he ever remembered his father hugging him like that and he treasured that memory until the day he died.)_

“Son,” his father said, burying his face in Martin’s unruly mop of hair. “I know that this seems like the end of the world right now, but I promise you—it isn’t. Worse things will happen in life.”

“How,” Martin asked, sobbing hysterically. “How can anything possibly be worse than this?”

“I don’t know, son. I don’t have all the answers. And I seriously hope that you’ll be spared from anything worse, but life is unpredictable and you never know what’s around the corner.”

At the time, Martin clearly heard his father’s words, but they never really sank in. He had gone from a normal healthy boy to a _blind_ boy and-- nothing else in the whole wide world was more devastatingly painful than that.

~*~

**Gentle impulsion**

By the time Martin turned fourteen he was largely over his negativity to do with his blindness. Over the last couple of years he had learned to live with his disability as well as possible. Most importantly, he had learned to ignore the whispers and murmurs from strangers as they expressed their _compassion_ for the poor blind boy.

Braille and the white cane had become his new best friends. It had taken a lot of tears and sweat, but he had finally come to a point where he could fully accept who he was and he felt ready to take on the world.

His parents had done a remarkable job of making him think and act more independently, but from this point on there was nothing they could do for him anymore. It was up to him to make something of himself—to discover all the facets of his personality that had been pushed aside while he learned how to deal with his handicap.

So, naturally –in all his independence- at the age of fourteen, he fell in love for the first time.

During those days, he practised a lot with Deedee, his newly assigned guide dog. His father had put Martin’s name on the list for a guide dog on the day of this thirteenth birthday and, finally, a month ago, Martin had become the proud owner of a beautiful black Labrador who was going to help him earn his ticket to freedom.

From the moment he had met the animal, he had felt at ease— as if he had known Deedee for years. She had become his friend and confidante and, pretty soon, Martin wasn’t quite sure anymore how he ever managed to get around without her for so long. With Deedee’s arrival a new world opened up for him. Total independence had suddenly become part of his daily life and he enjoyed every moment of it. Where he used to sit at home, waiting –not so patiently- for someone to guide him somewhere he wanted to go, he could now go alone. Deedee would lead him there without letting him stumble once.

It was on a sunny Sunday morning that he decided to take Deedee for a walk to the park. He could do that now. He could walk the streets, without having to worry about getting run over or taking a wrong turn. On that Sunday, the pavement was solid beneath his feet, the air thick with the heavy scent of summer showers and in the distance a man and woman were yelling at each other while the wailing of an ambulance sounded somewhere to his left.

“Hey, that’s a beautiful dog you got there,” a soft feminine voice called out.

Slowly turning into the direction the voice originated from, Martin responded. “Thanks. Her name is Deedee.” And as if the dog could understand him, it barked twice into the newcomer’s direction.

“Hello, girl,” she said, before addressing Martin again. “She seems to be pretty amazing.”

“Yeah,” Martin proudly agreed, while rubbing Deedee’s flank. “She really is. She’s my _eyes_ and she guides me everywhere I want to go.”

“That’s pretty cool,” she said, a hint of a smile in her voice. “So, I’m Sam by the way. I just moved to this neighbourhood.”

“Hi, Sam,” Martin said, sticking out his hand in Sam’s direction. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Martin.”

“Hey, Martin,” she said, shaking Martin’s hand –surprisingly firmly— a faint musky scent wafting his way as she pulled her hand back.

Later on, when he thought back to their first meeting, he realised he should have caught the obvious clues, but at that time he was too busy falling in love.

So, when, a few days later, they sat under the big oak tree together in Sam’s garden and he tentatively trailed his fingers over her temples, eyelids, nose and lips— studying her features—and God, she was beautiful- before tenderly cupping her cheek, pulling her closer and softly kissing her for the first time, he let his hands wander a little and—

_Oh._

“Sam?” he asked as he pulled away a little.

“Yeah,” she responded, her breath mingling with his as she brought her lips to his again.

“Your name— what is it short for? Samantha?” he asked, moaning a little as Sam kissed his bottom lip, before pulling away again.

“Samantha? Why on Earth would my name be Samantha? I might like boys more than girls, but that doesn’t mean that I should have a girl’s name.”

“A girl’s name? But—“ Martin trailed off, starting to see the light— and wasn’t _that_ ironic.

“Martin?” Sam whispered.

“Hmmm,” Martin murmured, not sure he could make his voice work properly at that moment.

“You did know that I’m a boy, right? I mean—I know I never actually _told_ you, but I just assumed that you knew— you know? And maybe— well, after a while, maybe I didn’t really want to tell you anymore, because I really like you. My--my name is short for Samuel,” Sam explained, his voice a little worried.

“Oh. Oh yeah—of course I knew you were a boy,” Martin quickly recovered, shoving Sam’s shoulder—his muscular and obviously male shoulder. How did he miss this?

“Yeah right--,” Sam said, not even fooled for a moment, before he hesitantly continued. “You want to stop?”

“What? I—I don’t—“ Martin said, confusion colouring his voice.

“The kissing. You want to stop? Now that you know that I’m a—a boy.”

His only answer had been to pull Sam gently towards him again and giving him a slow lingering kiss, before whispering into his open mouth.

“Why would I want that?” Martin asked, still high on endorphins and feeling like he was on top of the world. “If I am to believe Father Green, I’m already going to hell for kissing you—so, I might as well take the scenic route.”

Martin felt Sam’s lips curl into a smile, against his mouth.

“Good,” he said, before leaning in again.

Years later, Martin could still pinpoint the moment he realised that kissing a boy was a very _very_ good idea. Way more interesting than kissing a girl— an idea that had never really appealed to him in the first place. But he could also see how, from that moment on, things only got more difficult for him, because he was no longer just the _blind_ boy, but the _gay, blind_ boy and wasn’t that what he needed: _a brand new, shiny label_.

~*~

**Shakes me, makes me lighter**

At the age of nineteen, Martin finally succeeded to get away from his parent’s protective chokehold, as he moved to New York City, to attend Columbia University. He had graduated from high school with excellent grades, and universities all over the nation had sent him letters, trying to lure the _blind kid_ to their campus. After all, universities were truly invested in the future of _every_ kind of student— _and the great publicity that came along with it_.

It had taken him a long time to decide, but he had finally decided on Columbia University—for two main reasons. One, it had an excellent _Economics_ program and he’d always been fascinated by the flawless logic of numbers. Two, he had to keep both feet on the ground and realistically speaking, the field of Economics had one of the best career opportunities for someone with a visual handicap.

So, he moved to New York, which turned out to be an intoxicating city. It took time and patience for both he and Deedee to adjust to the hustle and bustle of such a big city. Martin had never heard a cacophony of so many different noises before and, during the first few months he used to come home to his dorm room with a raging headache, dead on his feet, exhausted from all the strange voices, sounds and smells he had absorbed that day.

And even in the dorms he couldn’t escape the smell— the entire building smelled like youth and energy — _like dirty socks, unclean underwear and illegal booze._

A few months into his stay, both he and Deedee finally settled into a comfortable routine they could live with, with the help of some wonderful people he met on campus. It wasn’t long after, that his headaches started to subside, and soon they disappeared completely. From that moment on, life away from home suited Martin fine and he truly flourished in his new environment.

Truth be told, his parents hadn’t been all that unhappy to finally see their son go. They had never stated it out loud, but it was obvious they suspected he liked boys instead of girls. He was never a hundred percent sure, but it might have had something to do with the night he decided it was a good idea to kiss Tom Summers - _his high school crush_ \- in their backyard, in full view of his parent’s bedroom window. They never said anything, but the morning after, his parents had acted strangely towards him, while his sister kept making these small pointed remarks that never missed their target. That initial weirdness had never really subsided again.

Every time Martin had tried to open a discussion on the topic of homosexuality, his parents had always trampled down the effort and had done everything possible to change the subject. In the end, he had finally abandoned the idea of coming out to his parents in an open and honest manner— since it was obvious a gay son just didn’t fit into their –surprisingly- narrow-minded view of the world.

So, they all kept playing their parts and went on with the charade until the day of Martin’s graduation. So, when he found himself in New York City two months later, he was eager and more than ready to start a new chapter in his life.

~*~

**Stumbling a little**

“So,” Vicky asked, as she saw Martin approach their usual table at ‘Ed’s diner’, the place they always had lunch together -every Sunday at twelve o’clock sharp- and which was located conveniently right next to Martin’s apartment building, so he didn’t even need to bring his dog with him. “How did it go on Friday?”

“Oh—great. Everything was just fantastic, up until the moment I walked in there and they discovered I was blind,” Martin responded bitterly, feeling around with his cane for the chair, before pulling it out and sitting down.

“That bad, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t get it, Vicky. I graduated with the highest grades from our class and yet—two years later, everyone in that class –including you- has found a job, except me. It’s like I’ve got this big sign on my head that says: don’t hire me, I’m blind and therefore also very dumb.”

“No, Martin—they don’t think you’re dumb. They just—,” Vicky said.

“They just what?” Martin asked a little harshly, taking off the sunglasses he’d begun wearing once it became obvious that possible future employers didn’t like him staring at them with sightless eyes.

“They’re just afraid of the unknown, I suppose— I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s great. But in the mean time, I’m twenty-eight years old with a degree in Economics that’s gathering dust. What can I do to possibly convince these people I’d be a good asset to their company?”

“I don’t know, honey. Most of these companies are being lead by incompetent morons anyway and if they can’t see how valuable you are— well, that’s their loss.”

“Thanks, Vick,” Martin said, as he sent her a grateful smile and reached for her hand across the table. “You’re a great friend.”

“Well— of course I am. I’ve graduated the ‘Fitzgerald 101’ course and I know you better than anyone,” Vicky said, lowering her voice to make sure Martin caught just how much she meant it. “You are one of the best people I’ve ever met, Martin and somewhere out there, there is a company who is going to see beyond those blue eyes of yours.”

“Perhaps,” Martin said, squeezing her hand. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe it’s closer than I think. I have another job interview tomorrow at the Federal Building. They’re looking for a junior accountant in the FBI personnel department and it sounds really interesting. Who knows—maybe I’ll even get it.”

“Who knows, indeed,” Vicky said, squeezing back. “After all— Martin Fitzgerald, FBI agent, does have a certain ring to it.”

“FBI agent?” Martin chuckled.

“Well, yeah—technically, you’d be working for the FBI, so that’d make you an agent for the FBI—sort of. And hey, another big plus is that you’d be working in the vicinity of all those real hunky FBI agents.”

“Hunky, huh?” Martin repeated, smiling at her.

“Yeah, don’t you ever watch movies about FBI agents? They’re always gorgeous,” Vicky said dreamily.

“Well, I can’t say I’ve actually _seen_ any of those movies, no,” Martin said, arching his eyebrow, waiting for Vicky to catch up— and she did—

“Oh shit, Martin—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Martin said, smiling at her. “I know you didn’t mean it like that. But—let’s not talk about this job interview anymore okay? I don’t want to jinx it.”

“All right,” she said, and she immediately changed the topic to something more light-hearted.

The next day Martin went to his interview, not really expecting to get the job. Forty-seven minutes later he walked out of the senior manager’s office with a contract and a firm smile plastered on his face.

Pancho, the faithful golden retriever, who now acted as his eyes (as Deedee’s heart had finally given out three years ago), safely leading him through the building— into the elevator, past the guards in the main entrance hall and past a smirking young FBI agent, who had seen Martin step off the elevator and who stared after him rather bemusedly. But Martin kept on talking to Pancho animatedly, as the animal lead him outside— across the Federal Plaza, to the nearest subway station-- oblivious to it all.

~*~

**Water is my eye**

When Martin met Ryan Messer, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he’d found true love, so it was all the more devastatingly heartbreaking when it turned out he’d found _anything_ but.

He was thirty-one, had a great job and all he lacked was a boyfriend. Then Ryan came into his life— muscular Ryan, with the spiky hair _(Martin loved to run his hands through it, ruffle it up a bit-- liked how it felt under his fingers)_ , the uneven cheekbones, the slightly crooked nose and the full lips. And okay, maybe Ryan wasn’t all that perfect on the outside—because yes, he had somewhat of a beer belly, but it wasn’t as if Martin had to ever look at him, so Ryan’s appearance didn’t matter all that much.

The thing that _was_ important was Ryan’s smooth heavy voice, whispering in his ear when they were in bed together. That sexy British accent breaking him down to a little pile of happy dust, every damn time. The heat Ryan gave off when they made love, mixed with the heady scent of pure male arousal—unlike anything Martin had ever smelled before.

Ryan was a lawyer that worked in the legal department of the FBI. Martin met him at the yearly New Year’s party. He had just been standing around, talking with his colleagues, when Ryan had sidled up next to him. The man had smelled really good and Martin’s finely tuned senses had immediately focused on the stranger next to him. They started a conversation where Ryan had said all the right things at the right time, so that night it had been Ryan who passionately kissed him outside the building. It had been Ryan who got into a cab with him and ultimately, it had been Ryan who had opened Martin’s eyes by introducing him to the joys of anal sex-- all in the course of one memorable night.

Up until that moment, Martin had had some boyfriends, but none of the relationships had progressed passed the blowjob and frottage stage. With Ryan it was different. Martin had never felt so complete before-- not with anyone. He loved how Ryan just fucked him through the mattress until Martin didn’t know what was up and down anymore. More importantly, he loved Ryan.

So when-- three months into their affair, Ryan suddenly stopped coming over in the evening and started to avoid him by dodging all his phone calls, Martin was smart enough to see the writing on the wall. But still, the day he found out that – _without telling him_ \- Ryan had resigned his job and had returned to London-- _to his wife and two children_ \-- Martin did the only thing he could do: he went a little crazy for a while.

For three weeks in a row, he called Vicky in the middle of the night, at 3am— telling her he heard voices, until she threatened to put him in a mental institution because he was clearly losing it. _(He stopped calling her after that. Vicky was a good friend, but when she was serious about something, he knew better than to push.)_ He stopped shaving for a few days and grew a scraggly beard that –according to his friends and colleagues- really didn’t suit him at all.

It finally took a strong warning from his boss—

“By God, Martin— I like you. You know I do. But if you don’t snap out of this funk and get your act together-- I swear to God, I’ll fire your blind ass!”

\-- to make him revaluate his priorities, and two days later he shaved the beard and went back to being the uptight Fitzgerald he had always been.

~*~

**Teardrop on the fire**

“Martin Fitzgerald?”

“Yeah,” Martin said, focusing on the man’s voice, swallowing the nauseated feeling that hadn’t left him ever since he made a call to the police to report his missing friend. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“FBI Agent Taylor. Do you mind if I come in for a moment? I need to ask you some questions,” the guy said.

The first time Martin met Danny Taylor, he hated him on the spot, because there he was—standing on his doorstep, with his smooth voice, fake politeness and FBI badge— a badge he couldn’t even see, so Taylor reached for his hand and pressed the badge against his palm so he could feel it.

“Yeah, sure—come in,” Martin said, jerking his hand free from Taylor’s grip, before leading him back into his apartment. “Please, sit down. Can I get you anything?”

“No, that’s okay, sir. Could you just sit down for a moment while we talk?” Taylor asked.

“Yeah—okay,” Martin said, his voice shaking a little as he made his way over to his usual chair.

“Are you feeling all right?” Taylor asked, worry colouring his voice.

“All right?” Martin asked, finally sinking down into a chair. “No. No, I’m not, Agent Taylor. I’m not _all right_ at all,” he spat venomously. “Just ask what you want to know, okay?”

“Okay,” Taylor said, his voice a little uncertain— a tone that meant he was assessing Martin’s mental stability. Martin had relied on his hearing long enough to pick up even the smallest hints of emotion in a person’s voice.

“I understand you and Victoria Reed were friends?” Taylor finally asked.

“Are,” Martin mumbled, rubbing a hand over his chin, vaguely registering the stubble as he hadn’t shaved in three days.

“Excuse me?” Danny asked.

“ _Are_ friends,” Martin repeated. “Vicky’s missing, Agent Taylor— that doesn’t mean she’s dead.”

“Of course. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to imply anything like that,” Taylor apologised.

“Sure you didn’t,” Martin answered, sarcasm dripping off every word. “To answer your question: yeah, I knew her very well. We went to Columbia University together and became good friends.”

“Were you two involved?” Taylor asked as Martin heard the scratching of a pen on paper as –Martin assumed- the agent wrote everything down in his notebook.

“No. Just friends,” Martin said, running a shaking hand through his hair. “Vicky— she— well, the first months on Campus, I had a hard time settling in. One day DeeDee -that was my guide dog at the time- fell ill and she had to stay at the vet for two days. I thought I knew my way well enough to fend for myself for that time, so I set out with just my white cane. But, when I left the cafeteria in the afternoon, I couldn’t remember how to reach the main building, leaving me pretty much stranded in the middle of nowhere. And— being a Fitzgerald- I was too stubborn to ask for help of course. So, that was when Vicky saw me, and came over to see if I needed any assistance. I dismissed her pretty harshly, telling her that I wasn’t a charity case and I didn’t need any help,” Martin said, smiling as he remembered that day and the tone of her voice as she berated him for being a stupid idiot that was too _blind_ to see he was completely lost.

“Safe to say that she set me straight right away. After she bitched at me, she just took my arm and asked me where I was headed. She led me to the main building and as she was about to leave again, I apologised for my earlier behaviour. She accepted my apologies and we talked a little— I guess that was it. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“She sounds like one hell of a friend,” Taylor said, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“She is. Vicky—she-- she really helped me through those first few weeks. Without her I’d been lost—literally and figuratively,” Martin answered, his unseeing blue eyes staring straight ahead.

“This Deedee?” Agent Taylor asked as Martin heard how Romeo settled on the couch next to Taylor. No doubt trying to get the agent to rub behind his ears, by showing him his puppy dog eyes— the _traitor_.

“No—Deedee died a few years back. After that I signed up for another dog— his name was Pancho, but--” Martin said, swallowing deeply as he remembered that horrible day in May. “He got hit by a car last year and we had to put him to sleep. One of the worst days of my life and-- without Vicky, I’d have gone crazy, but she helped me through. Anyway— this fellow here is Romeo—he’s been with me for almost ten months now.”

“Romeo,” Taylor repeated, before softly crooning to the dog. “That’s a nice name— isn’t it boy--”

“Yeah—he’s a really good friend. It took a while to build up the trust, but right now he’s one of the most loyal dogs I’ve ever had,” Martin answered, suddenly uneasy to discuss such an –to him- intimate part of his personal life with this stranger. “Listen, Agent Taylor— you didn’t come here to talk about my dog. You came here to find out more about Vicky’s life. And let me tell you that she had no enemies at all. She was loved by everyone— okay?”

“Yeah,” Taylor said. “About that— it seems that Miss Reed—“

“Vicky,” Martin interrupted. “Call her Vicky. She hated it when people called her by her last name. Said it reminded her of her father too much.”

“Her father?” Taylor asked, professional curiosity now clearly seeping through.

“Yeah— let’s just say that Vicky’s home situation was less than stellar. She once told me that the happiest day of her life was when her father finally died.”

“Huh--,” Taylor sighed. “I know the feeling,” he muttered under his breath, which made Martin aware that those words weren’t intended for him to hear.

“You know—I lost my eyesight, but I’m not deaf,” he said, a little amused.

“Right,” Taylor said, clearing his throat, before continuing the questioning.

“All right—did you ever hear Vicky talk about a guy named Thomas Beech?”

“No,” Martin asked, cocking his head slightly to the right, his eyes unfocused and a little blurry. “Who is he?”

“That’s not really important, Mister Fitzgerald—but,” Danny started.

“Like hell it isn’t!” Martin burst out angrily. “Vicky is the best friend I’ve ever had in my entire lonely and— _dark_ existence. Okay? And if something is going on with her, I’d like to know what it is. So, please— Agent Taylor, tell me— who is this guy and why are you asking about him?”

“I can’t disclose that information yet,“ Taylor said, clearly feeling uncomfortable around Martin after his outburst.

“You can’t?” Martin asked. “Or you won’t?”

“Listen—“ he started.

“No no no, I’ve listened enough. My entire life I’ve been listening to people, because I couldn’t see-- and look where it got me. It got me this!” he shouted, bringing up his arms. “A life in a one bedroom apartment-- an empty apartment, because no one is really interested in a blind guy. The only good thing I have going on is my friendship with Vicky, okay?”

He swiftly stood up and made his way over to the couch where the agent was sitting. Sinking down next to him, Martin tentatively reached out until his hands bumped into the other man’s chest. Taylor let out a raspy breath as Martin put his palms flat on his chest and slowly slid them up until he reached his shoulders, which he grasped firmly, forcing Taylor to look straight at him.

“Please,” Martin said, putting every ounce of conviction in his voice. “What do you know? I need to know.”

“I can’t tell you,” Taylor finally whispered, his breath ghosting across Martin’s face. “I’m sorry.”

Defeated, Martin slumped down, but then he felt two warm hands settling on his biceps as Taylor brought his mouth to his right ear.

“But I can promise you that I’ll do everything in my power to find her, Mister Fitzgerald. I’ll find her,” he stressed with a ragged sounding voice.

And he kept his promise, because it was exactly six long and sleepless days later when Martin’s world collapsed completely, as Agent Taylor turned up on his doorstep again, and told him Vicky had been found—under the floor of Thomas Beech’s basement.

It was Agent Taylor who then helped him to the bathroom, when Martin’s face had gone ashen and he had to stumble his way over to the toilet, dry heaving convulsively. It was Taylor who led him to his bedroom afterwards, to lie down— wetting a cloth to wipe the sweat from Martin’s face. It was Taylor who stayed with Martin all night long— patiently listening as Martin told him a hundred different stories about Vicky.

And by morning, Agent Taylor had gone, and all that was left was Danny— Danny, with the comforting voice and arms, who held Martin close when he finally - _ashamed for his weakness_ \- broke down in tears.

Ultimately, it was Danny who saved him from the darkness.

~*~

**Feathers on my breath**

It all happened very gradually. At first, he and Danny met up and hung out in the park during the weekend. Then they started meeting up at each other’s home in the evening, talking hours on end about life, love and— sports, as they were still guys. It didn’t take too long before Martin was spending nearly all his free time with Danny, feeling as if he had known the man forever.

And then-- one day Martin woke up in the morning and realised that he was in love with Danny. Which was not a good thing at all, since Danny had told him – _on more than one occasion_ \- about his many conquests— all of them women.

Danny knew Martin was gay. Martin had blurted it out one night, after a few beers too many and for a moment there, he had been terrified for Danny’s reaction, but all Danny had done was pat him on the back, before adding: “Good for you.” And that had been it.

So, when, on the day of his thirty-fifth birthday, while coming out of a restaurant where they had celebrated, Danny took his hand, tugged him a little closer and kissed him chastely on the mouth, Martin got slightly confused.

“Danny?”

“How do you see me?” Danny asked, never letting go of Martin’s hand.

“ _See_? Danny, I don’t—“

“I just—I see you every day Martin. I see how you move. I see that crazy cowlick that you can’t seem to get rid off. I watch how your amazing blue eyes shift, but never register. I see— I _see_ you, Martin and I’m tired of pretending that I don’t notice you. I’m tired of denial.”

“I have a cowlick?” Martin asked, unconsciously bringing up his hand to his hair to smooth it down.

“You are so anal, Fitzie,” Danny chuckled. “I don’t know how you did it, but somehow you wormed your way into my life and now it’s hard to imagine I ever had a life without you.”

Slowly bringing up his free hand to Danny’s face, Martin whispered: “When I want to know what someone looks like, I _feel_ their face. I-- I _read_ it like I read Braille”

“Show me,” Danny said.

Ever so slowly, Martin brought up his other hand to the side of Danny’s face, until he was cradling his cheeks. Sliding up, he put his fingers on Danny’s forehead, gently fingering the lines there—following a path to his temples, while slowly sliding down again.

“Close your eyes,” Martin said and Danny did.

Tenderly he trailed his fingers over Danny’s eyelids, following their natural course until he went down the slope of Danny’s nose, further down to the little indentation above Danny’s upper lip. He rested the tip of his index finger there for a moment, before softly tracing Danny’s lips. At the corners of his mouth, he went down to cup Danny’s chin, gently thumbing the tender skin of his neck.

“You’re beautiful,” Martin said, a little surprised.

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” Danny softly chuckled.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re Danny and that’s enough for me,” Martin said, sliding his hands behind Danny’s neck, tugging him a little closer.

“Martin—I’ve never,” Danny said. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never—“

“Kissed a guy?”

“Actually, I was thinking a little bigger.”

“Bigger how?”

“I’ve never fallen in love with a man before.”

_Oh._

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Danny grinned. “I mean-- God knows I tried to fight it, but then I’d see you and all my denial would fly out of the window. And I’m tired of fighting and pretending that you’re just a friend. I want— I want more, but—“

“But you’re scared shitless?” Martin guessed.

“God yes. You have no idea,” Danny said, swallowing deeply. “I went through thirty-six years of life, falling in love with women and thinking I was completely straight and then I go and fall in love with a guy. That is pretty big.”

“Yeah.”

“And next to that— I-- don’t really know how you feel, you know? I—I know you’re gay, but that doesn’t automatically imply that you’re in love with me,” Danny said, bending down to rest his forehead against Martin’s shoulder.

“Danny,” Martin said, nuzzling his nose in Danny’s hair for a moment, revelling in the realisation that he could finally do this. “Danny, look at me.”

“No,” Danny mumbled into Martin’s shoulder, shaking his head.

“Danny,” Martin smiled. “Look up. I’ve got something important to tell you and it’s kind of hard to talk to the back of your head. Not that I can actually see it, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“All right, all right,” Danny finally conceded, straightening up to face Martin.

“Danny,” Martin repeated, sliding his hands further up again into Danny’s hair. “When a guy slides his hands into your hair and tells you you’re beautiful, that’s usually a good sign.”

“It is?” Danny whispered.

“Yeah, it really is.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in closer. “Now would be a good time to kiss me, Fitzie. I feel very daring right now.”

“Don’t call me Fitzie,” Martin said, grinning.

“You want to talk about that now?” Danny said and Martin could practically hear him raise his eyebrows in question.

“No—“ he said, putting his lips against Danny’s. “Not really.”

“That’s what I thought,” Danny mouthed against his lips, before grinning smugly.

“Shut up,” Martin whispered back, licking across Danny’s lips, shutting him up effectively.

“’kay,” Danny mumbled, opening his mouth for a fraction, sucking Martin’s lower lip into his mouth.

That night, they walked around for hours, held hands and talked about their dreams and hopes. And Martin knew it wasn’t possible, but he swore that he saw lights that night— bright stars that appeared every time Danny stopped him in the middle of a conversation, tugged him closer and kissed him.

~*~

**Most faithful my love**

Danny had used a million different arguments, the most important ones being that he couldn’t tell his co-workers, because then his job would be in danger. Martin had tried to talk some sense into him— tried to make him see that Jack Malone, his boss and friend, really wouldn’t fire Danny over his sexuality— not if he truly was the good friend that Danny always told him he was. Besides— he’d be breaking about a gazillion anti-discrimination laws in the process and Danny would have enough fodder to sue him _and_ the FBI for all they were worth.

It was a difficult time for Martin, because he’d shared one year of his life with Danny and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was _it_. Danny was his _happily ever after_ , just like in the fairytales— unfortunately, the fairytales never dealt with homophobia and FBI agents that were so deep in the closet it wasn’t even funny anymore.

Martin had tried to understand—he really had. After all, he’d had his fair share of problems with his parents, who were still ignoring anything to do with Martin’s _proclivities_ , and he was okay with that-- mostly. It was just one of those topics that never found its way into a conversation and if that was how they wanted it? Then, fine. He could live with that.

But then, one day, as he was having dinner with Danny in a restaurant downtown, they ran into two of Danny’s co-workers, Samantha and Vivian. They chatted about work for a while, waiting for Danny to introduce his companion, and when Danny finally did—

“This is an old _friend_ of mine, Martin Fitzgerald.”

\--it hurt like a bitch, because this was Danny, the guy he loved, introducing him as _just_ a friend, denying everything they had together.

“An old friend?” Martin quietly asked as soon as Viv and Sam had left. “You told me three months ago that you were going to tell them, Danny—and then you do this? You introduce me as your _friend_?”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said, reaching over the table to take Martin’s hand. “I haven’t found the time to tell them yet.”

“The time— yeah, I bet that is the only reason why you haven’t told them,” Martin said, sliding his hand from underneath Danny’s and reaching for Romeo’s leach. Romeo had already seen his boss move and came to stand next to Martin’s chair as he got up. “Come on Romeo, our _friend_ here has talked enough nonsense for the day— we’re going home.”

“Martin—Come on man!” Danny shouted, drawing the attention of some people in the restaurant. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that—“

“It’s just that you don’t want anyone to know that you’ve got a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend. We both know it,“ Martin whispered harshly.

“No— Martin. It’s not like that—“

“It isn’t? Well, then I can only conclude that you’re embarrassed that you’re together with a blind person and that’s why you pretended I was just a _friend_. And that? _That_ would be even worse than the first reason.”

“Fitzie, listen—“

“No. I’m through listening,” Martin stated forcefully. “You listen to me this time, Danny Taylor. As long as you’re not ready to accept exactly who and what you are, there isn’t much of a future in this relationship. I’m too damn old to have to worry about being someone’s dirty little secret. I want this relationship to move on, but as long as you’re so deeply hidden in your comfortable little closet, it just isn’t going to happen and that’s the way it is.”

“Oh come on!” Danny said. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Martin said, swallowing deeply before he grabbed hold of Romeo’s harness and he signalled the dog to safely lead him to the exit. After a few steps, he suddenly stopped and turned towards Danny again. “Look Danny, I’m not asking you to stand on the barricades, wearing a pink tutu and tell the world that you’re queer. I’m just asking you to tell your friends and colleagues, so we can at least be honest with them, without having to hide what we really are to each other.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Danny quietly whispered.

“Well then—I guess there’s not much to say anymore, is there?” Martin said, tears filling up his eyes, but he refused to cry, so he turned around again and let Romeo lead him outside, without saying another word.

He had waited up for hours that night. Waited for Danny to come to his apartment, to apologize and tell him that he was finally ready to come out to his friends and colleagues for who and what he really was. Telling him that he didn’t care anymore what other people thought of him, as long as he could be with Martin.

But Martin waited and Danny never came that night— nor did he the following night, or the one after that—and that’s when it dawned on Martin that Danny probably wasn’t coming back at all. That night, for the first time ever, since Vicky died, he broke down and shed a few tears, cursing his father for the feelings of shame that never failed to pop up whenever he cried.

It was another five days later, when Martin came home from work, turned on his radio and his world crumbled.

_“…the eight-year old girl had been missing since Sunday. As soon as the kidnapper saw it was an ambush, he pulled a gun and started randomly shooting at the FBI and local police. Witnesses say it was a spectacular shoot-out, unlike anything they’d ever seen before. So far, one FBI agent has been brought to St. Mary’s hospital with severe gunshot wounds. Thirty-seven year old Danny Taylor is still there, fighting for his life. It is believed that…”_

It took Martin exactly two seconds to swallow his pride, drop everything, harness Romeo and set out to find a cab— which wasn’t too hard in New York City.

And when he finally got to the hospital and anxiously inquired after Danny, all he got was:

“I’m sorry sir, you can’t go beyond the ICU doors with your dog. The ICU is reserved for the most critical patients and animals are not allowed in that section of the hospital. Furthermore, only family is allowed in the ICU. Now, you can wait in the waiting room across the hall, if you want— I can show you the way, so you can wait there for an update on your friend.”

He waited for hours— sitting on a hard plastic hospital chair, Romeo lying next to his feet, waiting for the nurse, who regularly came back to him, informing him on Danny’s condition, which was always the same: “He’s still in surgery.”

The waiting was agony and as if the animal could read his mind, Romeo nuzzled Martin’s hands and settled close to him, trying to comfort him. The dog had always had a nose for when Martin felt bad and he had never been so grateful for that as that night in the hospital.

“Martin?” someone suddenly broke his quiet contemplation-- and Martin knew that voice.

“Vivian?”

“Yeah—Martin, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“I heard about Danny on the radio and I just—I—“ Martin choked on his words, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. “I just wanted to be here, so I came to the hospital.”

“No—I mean, why are you _here_? In the waiting area? Shouldn’t you be in _there_ with Danny?” Viv asked, confusion in her voice.

“I can’t,” Martin said, swallowing deeply. “They wouldn’t let me in, since I’m not family and besides— dogs aren’t allowed in the ICU and I couldn’t possibly just leave Romeo unattended.”

“Well, I’m sure we can find a safe haven for Romeo for a while— and as for the family part—I’d say that being Danny’s _significant other_ is as good as being family. Don’t you think?”

“Significant other?” Martin asked.

“Yeah.”

“He told you?”

“He did,” Vivian said, sitting down next to Martin. “He told us yesterday. Not that it was new information for me. I’d seen the way he looked at you when we met you at the restaurant last week. It was obvious that you two weren’t just friends. But I pretended to be surprised anyway. He was so proud when he told us and I guess I didn’t want to ruin it for him.”

“He told all of you?” Martin asked, surprise and happiness mingling in his voice.

“Yeah, he did,” Vivian said, briefly touching Martin’s hand. “He said he had visited his brother in jail the night before, to tell him the truth and that Rafi had seemed okay with it.”

“Why?” Martin softly asked.

“Why what?” Vivian asked.

“Why would he tell _all_ of you?”

“You don’t know that? Martin— he-- you know what? I think it’s best to say it in the words he used yesterday. He told us that he had no choice but to tell us, if he wanted to hold onto the best thing that had ever happened to him.”

“What’s that?” Martin asked, not quite following.

“Wow—you really are _blind_ in a lot of ways Martin. He was talking about you, you idiot,” Vivian said, affection shining through, so Martin really didn’t have the heart to resent her for that remark.

“Really?” Martin asked, feeling as if his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

“Really.”

“So-- what did his boss say?”

“Jack?” Viv asked, laughter in her voice. “One thing you should know about Jack, Martin—his bark is much worse than his bite. He just told Danny that as long his personal relationship didn’t interfere with his professional life, he didn’t care who Danny was sleeping with.”

Letting out a shuddering breath, Martin answered. “I’m glad for that. Danny was really worried about his reaction. I never thought he’d actually tell all of you though. I’d given up on that—on him. I thought he’d be one of those guys who’d never be comfortable coming out to his friends and family, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Danny’s a very touchy-feely guy, Martin,” Vivian said, genuine affection tinting her voice. “Which is something I’m sure you already know. He has a big mouth but a very fragile heart. When he loves —truly loves— well, then there’s no stopping him. I’ve seen it happen before when his brother went missing. He just threw himself onto the case, not eating or sleeping for days, until he’d found him again.”

“So, I guess I should forgive him then, huh?” Martin said, smiling into Viv’s direction.

“You’d better, or you’ll have to answer to me,” Vivian threatened good-naturedly. “Now, what do you say we find a good home for Romeo and get you to the ICU, to see Danny?”

“Isn’t he still in surgery?”

“No, I just got a call a few minutes ago that he was brought to the recovery room. That’s where I was going when I saw you sitting here,” Viv explained. “He’s not awake yet and he won’t be for a while, but it could never hurt to let him hear your voice.”

“They won’t let me in. I’m not family-- not in the technical sense of the word,” Martin said.

“Ah—don’t worry about that. You’d be amazed how many doors open when you’ve got an FBI badge,” Vivian answered.

“All right then,” Martin said, finally standing up and reaching for Romeo’s leach. “Let’s go see Danny.”

“All right,” Viv said, lightly grabbing on to Martin’s arm to lead him to the nurse’s desk.

Thirty minutes later, Martin was sitting on another hard plastic hospital chair, but this time, he was right where he belonged— at Danny’s bedside. It had taken Viv all of five minutes to convince the nurses to let him in and to take care of the dog for a while. She was a very formidable and persuasive woman. Sam and Jack Malone had already been there. They had all sat with him in silence for a while, before they said goodbye and left him alone with Danny.

Reaching out, he searched his way over the covers to find Danny’s hand. When he found it, he lightly grasped it between his own, rubbing it— his fingers felt so cold.

“Hey Danny,” he said, listening to the constant and reassuring beeping of the heart monitor. “It’s me. You— you scared me. I mean, this is so typically you—we have one big fight and you get yourself shot. This is not something you’re allowed to do— ever again. Do you hear me?”

Scooting a little closer, Martin trailed his fingers over Danny’s familiar features, softly skimming his closed eyelids.

“Seriously—Danny, if you want any kind of future with me, you’ll make sure you never ever scare me like that again. Otherwise I might just drop dead from a heart attack before I can even reach the hospital. Do that for me, will you?”

Briefly resting his forehead against Danny’s bed, Martin rambled on.

“Vivian said that you told your friends—and your brother about us. Thank you for that, man. I know what it must have cost you. And to know that you did it for me— that is pretty miraculous,” he said, finding Danny’s hand again and squeezing it tightly. “I love you—but you already know that, so just –you know- stop freaking me out and wake up already.”

A soft moan broke the silence of the hospital room.

“Danny?” Martin asked, looking up and putting his right hand on Danny’s cheek to feel if there was any movement, and there was. Danny’s eyelashes softly fluttered against Martin’s sensitive fingers.

“Mmm, Ma—“ he tried to say.

“Ssssh,” Martin said, quickly covering Danny’s lips with a finger. “Don’t try to talk, just rest. I’m here now and I’ll still be here when you wake up again.”

Danny brushed a soft kiss against Martin’s fingers, before he stopped moving again, slipping into another deep sleep.

And Martin kept his promise. He waited for hours– days, by Danny’s bedside. He was there every single time he woke up. He helped Danny through the pain of physical therapy and later, when he was home again, he held Danny tight as he woke up from the nightmares, shivering and sweating all over.

He never once complained about any of it, because Danny was alive and that was enough of a miracle for him. Stubborn and determined, Martin struggled on-- fought alongside Danny as he worked his way through his PTSD.

And when Danny finally started feeling human again, Martin was still there, ready to start their future together.

~*~

**Love is a doing word**

“You know—you’ve got the stealth-like abilities of an elephant, Danny. You know that right?” Martin said, a smile blooming on his face as he heard how Danny was trying to sneak up to him. _Trying_ being the operative word. “I do wonder how you ever got through training at Quantico.”

“Damn, you are good Fitzgerald. How did you know it was me?” Danny said, plastering his chest to Martin’s back.

“Well, for one— as of last week, this house is exclusively ours and it would be highly strange if there would be anyone else wandering around here, besides me and you. So that was a big clue,” Martin said, moaning as Danny started nuzzling and kissing his neck.

“What’s two?” Danny asked in between kisses.

“Hmmm?” Martin mumbled, finally dropping the paintbrush back into the paint bucket as he pressed back into Danny’s warmth.

“You said there were two reasons you knew it was me, what’s the second one?”

“I smelled you,” Martin said matter-of-factly, tilting his head slightly to the right, to give Danny better access to his neck.

“You smelled me?” Danny said as he stopped kissing his way down to Martin’s neck to hook his chin over Martin’s shoulder. “I stink?”

“Very much so—“ Martin chuckled, turning his head to deeply inhale Danny’s unique scent. “A faint whiff of cologne and manly sweat, all mixed with a heavy odour of paint.”

“Well, I am the only man working around here, so you’d better show some respect, Fitz,” Danny said, biting down lightly on Martin’s earlobe.

“Only man working?” Martin said, a little miffed. “So, what have I been doing then?” he asked, gesturing to the direction of the wall he was painting.

“You?” Danny said. “You’ve been painting the same piece of wall for the better half of an hour now.”

“I have not!” Martin shouted indignantly, trying to shrug off Danny’s arms, but Danny had the abilities of a leech if he wanted to and he firmly held on.

“You might have— or you might have not,” Danny said smugly. “You’ll never know, will you?”

“You are evil,” Martin answered. “If it were anyone else but you saying that— but it’s only you, evil Danny.”

“That’s not what you said last night,” Danny remarked. “If I recall properly, you compared me to a god.”

“Yes, well—I don’t know what I was thinking,” Martin said, turning around in Danny’s arms, facing him head on while he curled his arms behind Danny’s back. “But I’m sure I can change my mind again if you do that thing you did last night.”

“Oh,” Danny said, leaning closer so he could lightly touch his lips to Martin’s. “You want me to do _that_ thing again, huh?”

“Uh huh,” Martin muttered, nuzzling even closer.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he said in a playful tone. “On one condition though.”

“What’s that?” Martin asked, grinning like a loon.

“You stop trying to help me with painting the walls. I know you want to help out, but I’m sure there are other things you could be doing that would suit your talents in a better way. Because frankly? You’re not doing a very good job,” Danny responded, biting down lightly on Martin’s lower lip.

“Danny,” Martin complained, feeling a little insulted. “That isn’t— _oh_ ”

He shut up when Danny dropped down to his knees in front of him. Because really—Martin might be blind, but he wasn’t stupid.

And when, a few minutes later, the lights finally burst behind his eyelids, he was reminded of that one brilliant Fourth of July, all those years ago and he quietly marvelled in the knowledge that Danny was the first person who made him see fireworks again and who –if only for a fraction of a second- illuminated his world and made the darkness disappear.

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> **Subtitles from Massive Attack's Teardrop.**


End file.
